


Good Taste

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2020-12-17 05:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21048797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Prowl can observe 800 moving objects and compute their direction of travel in 0.5 seconds, but believing that Chromedome is hitting on him might be harder to compute.





	Good Taste

**Author's Note:**

> [First posted to Tumblr on September 3, 2013 as “Drabble #44 - Chromedome/Prowl.” Crossposted to Archive of Our Own on October 15, 2019. Only the work itself has been posted.]
> 
> Written as a Request.
> 
> This fic takes place Pre-Shadowzone, so I’m using Chromedome’s original name “Tumbler.” Thanks!

“You can observe 800 moving objects and compute their direction of travel in 0.5 seconds, but you can’t notice that I’ve been trying to hit on you for an entire work cycle,” Tumbler said. He sat on the edge of Prowl’s table, turned halfway to the side and leaning over his Praxian friend. His patrol partner was still staring forward, mouth slightly open as if Tumbler’s request to go out together had been a request to jaywalk. Prowl was gaping. Gaping! Tumbler snapped his fingers in front of his partner’s face. “Hello? Prowl? Prowl!”

“What did you say, again?” Prowl asked, shaking his head as if he was knocking something back into place. He looked at Tumbler wide-eyed as if in a slight confusion. His lips turned into a frown and he swiped his data pad to the next page of the autopsy report. “We were talking about the break-in downtown, yes?”

“No, I said I was tired of you not picking up on my attempts at flirting.” Tumbler leaned back, sitting up straight. He twitched his finger and looked between his stoic partner and the back of his hand. He slid off the desk, and turned around. Prowl kept reading, clutching the data pad for dear life. The edge of the pad was fracturing. Prowl’s wings were rigid, as if he were insulted. Tumbler flicked the back of the pad, his voice heating up. “And then I asked you if you wanted to come over to my place for drinks after work, and you froze up.”

“No, I don’t think that was it. We were discussing something else, something work related.” Prowl tilted his head to the side, his eyes wide and mouth pursed. His bottom lip slid to the side every so slightly, and his eyebrow raised. Prowl always lost control of his facial expression when he was thinking. He regained his normal stoic face, eyes half narrowed and mouth in a frown as Prowl shook his head. “I’d remember something like that.”

“Did–did you blank it from your mind?” Tumbler asked, the shock in his voice reaching new heights. Tumbler turned his head down, rubbing at the edge of his face-plate, fingers touching the tip of his visor. “Am I that unappealing that you had to erase from your own brain module that I even asked?”

“Unappealing? Tumbler, can we please finish discussing the case?” Prowl asked, almost pouting that work had been interrupted for something as trivial as a date. “We have so much to do before the shift ends.”

“Fine, I can take a hint,” Tumbler said. He puffed up his chest plate, and kicked the bottom edge of the desk. “I’m taking off early. See you later.”

“Where are you going?” Prowl asked, gaping with his mouth wide open again, and doorwings rising an inch. 

Tumblr ignored him, and left the office in a huff. There was no way he was going to talk about work after an insult like that. He shoved his way out of the station and into the street full of mechs going about their business. Laughing, and chatting this way of all shapes and sizes. Faces smiling, and others pouting or angry. Tumbler clenched his fists, and stopped near a shop window. His reflection peered back at him from the glass, almost mocking him.

He wasn’t stupid. Tumbler knew that despite what mechs said to the contrary, that folks like him with unmovable face-plates and permanent visors were considered unattractive. His plate wasn’t a covering for his face–it was his face. The difference between him and an Empurata victim was slight, and no one knew it better than him. He had the benefit of an extra eye and a more normal face shape–but he was still missing the rest.

The nose, the lips, the adjustable optic frames. The things that moved and bent and flitted about with the changing moods and thoughts of their hosts. Fluid expressions that had so many attractive types and positions that the same mech could look amazing in a hundred different ways.

It was hard to compete with that when all you had was a bulky visor, and a single movable slot that revealed his fuel intake port. Tumbler had one expression: nothing.

Tumbler liked to think he wasn’t self conscious about it, he had all sorts of other ways to express himself after all, but he didn’t think Prowl of all mechs would–

“Tumbler!” Prowl shouted, grabbing his partner’s arm. He pulled Tumbler to the side, and twisted him so they were facing each other. Prowl’s intakes were heaving, and his wings went up and down with the motion. He’d ran there. Prowl’s mouth was in a frustrated snarl, and his eyes were narrowed. “Why on earth did you just pick up and leave like that? I was calling you!”

“I was upset!” Tumbler said back, uncaring of the scene they were causing on the street. He smacked Prowl’s arm away, and poked him in the middle of the chest. “What did you think?”

Prowl looked down, his eyes flicking side to side. He stood up straight, and looked Tumbler in the visor. “Were you serious? About asking me out?”

Tumbler dropped his arms to the side, and shifted from one foot to the other. He felt limp and helpless under Prowl’s intense gaze. He was the center of attention to a battle computer, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Or rather, Tumbler was curious why every pump in his body seemed to speed up under the scrutiny. “What?”

“I asked if you were serious,” Prowl said, his wings dropping. The observing optics dropped away, and left only a tired gaze. “Or rather, if you were sincere in wanting to spend time with me outside of work.”

“Yes,” Tumbler said. He shifted to attention and nodded firmly. “I was.”

“I see,” Prowl said. He turned his head to the side, concentrating on Tumbler’s reflection in the glass. “Than I must apologize.”

“For?” Tumbler asked, holding a hand out.

“Misjudging you. I had assumed you were teasing me, and in total disbelief that someone I considered a friend would sink that low, I tried to brush it off like it hadn’t happened,” Prowl explained. He kept his face toward the window, but his optics shifted in their sockets until they was was focused on Tumbler. “So I apologize.”

“Teasing you,” Tumbler said. He dared to reach forward, and put his hand on Prowl’s shoulder. He squeezed the warm metal there, and leaned down. “You thought I was teasing you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone has asked me out, only to laugh in my face that no one would ever be interested in a creepy, autopsy freak,” Prowl said. He didn’t push Tumbler’s hand away, but he shifted nervously under the touch. Tumbler let him go, holding his hand at his side. Prowl touched the spot where Tumbler’s hand had been for barely a moment, before returning his hands to his sides. “After the third time, it’s not hard to put two and two together that you’ve become the center of a betting pool.”

“Oh,” Tumbler said. He clenched his hand into a fist to stop the shaking. “Sorry for the confusion.”

“I should have confronted you directly, but I didn’t want to admit that you’d joined the lot of them. So again, I apologize deeply for not trusting you.” Prowl said. He left an air of silence after his words, as if he wanted to say something else. Prowl shifted, slightly, unsure of his own body. He locked his optics on Tumbler’s face, and his wings moved up an inch. “Though, may I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Tumbler said. He rubbed the back of his neck, his pumps heating from being on the direct receiving end of Prowl’s attention yet again. “What?”

“Why did you assume my reason for rejection was that you were somehow unappealing?” Prowl asked, honest confusion in his voice. He put his hand on the top of Tumbler’s arm of his own will. “Aside from a slightly irritating habit of interjecting sarcastic quips after my observations, you’re an impressive officer with keen observational skills, you’re always cool under pressure, and you own an intelligence suited not only for your desired field, but that keeps you toe to toe with myself. What could possibly be unappealing about that?”

Tumbler pulled his shoulders back, and reversed a step automatically. He twisted his fingers into his palm, and felt his fuel pump heat up. He crossed his arms and tilted his head up, and looked down at Prowl. “Guess you’re right, what did I have to be self conscious about? I’m awesome.”

Prowl rolled his optics with a huff and turned around, smacking Tumbler in the side with his doorwings. “Let’s go back to work, and maybe I’ll let you ask me your earlier question a second time for a proper answer.”

Prowl glided toward the building, with a smirk on the corner of his mouth that Tumbler could spy in his reflection. It was a good look on him. As he disappeared behind the door, Tumbler had to smack the side of his helm for staring.

“Hey! Wait up!” Tumbler shouted, following his partner back into the building. He caught his reflection in the glass as he entered, and shook his head.

If Prowl said “Yes” later when the request was repeated, which Tumbler was feeling much better about, he probably owed the stoic officer an apology of his own. No one who can observe 800 moving objects and compute their direction of travel in 0.5 seconds, could possibly be that shallow.

Those other officers were missing out. Tumbler knew he had good taste.


End file.
